999,999
by MerylJane
Summary: Hodgins had to be sure it was real. He was suspicious of the way all of his dreams were coming true. She nodded. “Roxy and I had a lot of sex, but it wasn’t exactly of the reproductive type.” Even moments can have consequences.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This takes place a few weeks after Angela and Hodgins's "moment" in the Egyptian room, after her break-up with Roxy. I woke up with this idea this morning and typed it this evening and had the urge to post it, so it may not have yet reached its full potential. Conceptually, this piece is not at all original. It's simply my own interpretation, primarily for entertainment and exploration purposes. I haven't exactly edited extensively (for content, I mean), so I apologize if it's completely weird and out of line. Still, it is my sincerest hope that you enjoy it.**

**Stylistic Warnings: Written in strange, omniscient third-person; contains unconventional outbursts of quirky dialogue; parentheses and italics are used a bit excessively.**

**Disclaimer: Gee, well, if I owned Bones, then that whole Angela/Hodgins breaking up thing wouldn't have happened, obviously.**

It would have been difficult to tell just by looking at her, but Angela Montenegro's distress was not primarily physical.

Not that she didn't feel like shit. Because she totally did. That part was easy to communicate, what with her frequent emesis and all.

_Anyone_ could have seen _that. _(Even Brennan.)

But_ Jack_ could tell, just by looking at her, that she had bigger issues than feeling sick. Of course, it had taken him lots of practice to get where he was; reading her wasn't something that came _naturally_ to anyone. He was actually sort of proud of the progress he'd made. It had taken a lot to get this far.

(And very little for it to have been for nothing.)

Well, not _nothing. _Because there she was, lying miserably on the couch in her office (she probably shouldn't have even come into work today). And there he was, delivering a file for a case that didn't _really _matter to him anymore. Not after seeing her.

"Angie?" he asked softly, sitting down in her nearby chair, rolling it toward her, and then skillfully creating the distance he deemed necessary by extending his legs so that his feet came into contact with the edge of her couch. A good three feet away seemed a safe enough distance. "You okay?"

"I'm _fantastic_, Hodgins," she said weakly. Her tone was not scathing, but it was sarcastic.

"What's up?" He made what he thought was an impulsive mistake by reaching out to touch her face, under the guise of moving hair out of her eyes.

She gave in. She was only human. "Would you just . . . come _here_?" She gestured to a space she'd made next to her on the couch. She knew how selfish (and inappropriate) it was, but she wanted to feel his arms around her again. She needed to feel like he loved her again. She wanted them to be close, especially if this could be the last time. Besides, it was in that position that she felt safest and most comfortable. She'd probably have better luck telling him if they were like that.

So basically, they were on the exact same page, in terms of the guilt they were forcing upon themselves.

He was completely powerless. "Sure, baby." She winced at the term (though she really had come to enjoy it a bit when they were together).

She'd thought about it (a lot) but she was still unsure of the best way to tell him. Because, as he'd pointed out oh-so-clearly, the moment was over. Apparently, though, even moments could have lasting consequences. (At the time, his words had seemed comforting. For Hodgins, they'd actually been incredibly self-sacrificing.)

Once he succumbed, he moved quickly and eagerly to lie beside her on the couch. He put his arm around her waist and let his hand rest on her stomach. He began to stroke her exposed skin lazily where her shirt had ridden up. His hand was warm and gentle and her physical pain was immediately alleviated. Emotionally, however . . .

"Jack," she whispered carefully, sounding smaller and weaker than she was. Her preventative efforts against her inevitable tears were making her throat ache.

He was beginning to feel worried about her; Angela was not the type to get upset and cry over things, even important things; it wasn't that she was emotionally unhealthy, but that she was _too _emotionally healthy for her own good. Or for _his_ own good. He elevated himself slightly to better see her face and caught a tear with his thumb. He kissed her forehead. "Yeah?"

His voice was so soft.

Even after everything she'd done to hurt him (because she definitely thought the breaking up was her fault), he was so soft to her.

_Why the hell did they break up? _

_And why the hell was that moment a few weeks ago in the Egyptian room just a moment?_

_What the _hell _had they been thinking?_

Hodgins shook her shoulder lightly. "Ange?"

She knew she could trust him; she knew he was golden. She took a leap.

"999,999."

"Huh?"

She sighed. She cringed. She tried to smile, but it came out like a semi-hopeful grimace. "999,999, Jack," she said, articulating each syllable carefully. "More," she added, for clarity.

His hand paused and flattened on her stomach. He understood easily. Her words hadn't been _that_ clever.

_I want, like, a million of these_, she'd said.

_If you want a million, we'll have _a million, he'd responded optimistically.

And, you know what, he'd gotten used to the idea over the period of their engagement. So used to the idea that when he and Angela had broken up, he'd felt he'd lost even more than just her; he'd lost an entire family. He'd lost the chance at having absolutely everything that could possibly matter in life. He'd had so much fun, lying in bed at night while she was asleep, envisioning the children they'd have in just a few years. He'd even picked out some names, like a twelve-year-old girl would.

It took every morsel of strength he could gather not to break into a grin and kiss her deeply and yell ecstatically to the world. (He'd been lying and stupid when he'd brushed off their foray the other week as a _moment_. Angela Montenegro and Jack Hodgins didn't do _moments. _Not with each other.)

"And you sure it's . . . are you sure I'm . . . the father?" he asked warily, but not in the way most guys in his position would. No, quite the opposite; he wasn't trying to get out of anything, but he was making sure things were happening in his favor. He was suspicious of the way all of his dreams were coming true.

She nodded. "Roxy and I had a lot of sex, but it wasn't exactly of the reproductive type."

And he could no longer contain himself. His face became an explosion of joy. "This is amazing!"

"Jack!" she chastised with a strange mixture of shock, sternness, and relief. "This is not a good thing. This is a _bad thing_."

He laughed.

_He laughed!_

"Angela, I know we fucking broke up, but tell me this isn't the most wonderful thing in the world." He had sat up now because some sort of hormone suddenly being secreted in his system had made him suddenly energized and a little jittery. How could he be lying down at a time like this?

"What?" she said, smiling just a little. "What?" she repeated, sitting up, cross-legged to face him and thinking that the atmosphere in the room had just changed drastically.

She laughed too. Because she had seen it too, obviously, the visions of their family. And she'd loved it.

But they'd broken up. They'd_ broken up_. And people were not supposed to start families on the basis of a casual, in-the-moment sex.

But since when were they conventional, anyway?

She vocalized. "But, Jack, we aren't together anymore."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." Well, he sounded pretty serious.

She sighed. "We can't . . . we can't just get together because I'm pregnant. That's what stupid people do."

"Angela, you have no idea how willing I am to use this as a vehicle to get back together with you."

"_What?"_ she said disgustedly, yet again.

"I am _so happy_ right now. And I want to do whatever you want to do." He did look extremely happy.

"What do you think I want to do?" she said accusatorily.

"Get back together with me?"

"Where is this coming from?"

"I've never stopped loving you."

"You know, I really go for the whole sensitive boy thing, but sometimes _you_ are just too much."

"Too much _love_?"

Despite herself, she burst out laughing. "Jack, I . . . I've never stopped loving you either, but . . ."

"But what, Angie? We're gonna have a kid. We can get married now. Really."

"Oh, my God . . ."

"What?" He seemed a little defensive, but she hardly thought he was in a position to be so.

"Seriously? We're gonna do this _again_?"

"No, no . . . not again. Just . . . just think of it as another part of the journey. The best part."

**AN: So, um, please review! Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I think I responded to most reviews, hopefully. If not, that was a mistake and I'll try not to be so careless from now on. **

**Right, so I decided to continue this story. But I really don't do chapters well. You can definitely expect more, but I can't guarantee that chapters will follow a traditional, serial form. They may appear more like sort of chronological, interconnected oneshots. I hope that's okay. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The getting back together part was a transition they made with surprising grace and commendable ease.

Even Angela.

She'd decided it was best not to try and think about _why_ it was so easy and simply accept the fact that, like Jack told her, it was_ always _going to happen. Though it _had_ happened quickly and suddenly, and this may not have been _the_ healthiest way to go about it, one thing was for sure: neither of them was pretending.

She thought the best part was probably how excited he was. She was both amazed and hesitantly inspired, moved, by the genuine joy this event brought him.

She'd come home to his house that first evening, and slept in his bed. _Move in_, had been his clear intention for her, but he'd pled only with his eyes.

She wasn't sure if she could manage that. It seemed an almost contradictory flaw in her personality: she "had a thing for chaos," and yet the idea of commitment –no, _commitment _wasn't the right word-of _finality_ was difficult for her.

People at work had noticed, obviously. And what's meant by people is of course Cam and Booth. Well, they hadn't exactly figured out that they were having a baby, but they had observed a change in dynamic. (Brennan had been oblivious, as usual, though she had mentioned something about the "anthropological significance of sexual relationships in the workplace." She didn't _really_ know what she was talking about, of course. Not when it came to them.)

Sweets, however, had_ really_ noticed something was up. After observing their behavior for a period of time, he'd called them into his office to discuss this change. It concerned him _all too deeply._

"Dr. Hodgins," he said, throwing his hands into the air in that way he often did when offended and sounding a bit like a disappointed parent lecturing a disobedient child. "Did you simply _abandon _everything we've been working toward?"

"You guys have been working towards something?" Angela asked, amused.

"_No_," Jack said to her quickly. Then, tersely, to Sweets: "A better option opened up."

"I think it would be wise to talk together seriously, in the open, and consider the ramifications of rekindling a failed sexual relationship."

_I've told you, Sweets. Nothing _failed, Angela thought, intensely annoyed.

"I'm pregnant, Sweets. We're _together_," she divulged reluctantly. "Really together." She took Hodgins's hand, in an effort to make their getaway smoother.

Jack stood up at her command, and then asked, "Can we leave now, Sweets?"

"Um . . . well, uh . . ." Sweets was sputtering, caught _completely_ off-guard by this new information.

They left. Quickly.

That night, at home (she still said she wouldn't "move in," but she came_ home_ with him every night), they lay in their (_Jack's_, Angela was careful to say in her mind) bed.

"I've missed you, so much," he told her, all sensually and dramatically, but very sincerely.

"I've missed you, too, Jack," she responded, mostly to humor him.

"I never want to miss you again. I think we should make sure that we'll never have to miss each other . . . ever . . . again." He said this a bit choppily as the kisses he was placing on her shoulder interrupted the flow of his speech.

"Yeah?" she asked, a little sarcastically. She knew exactly where this conversation was going and she was wary.

"I want you to be _here._ I want the baby to be_ here_. I want this to be_ our_ house. Our family's house."

"I . . . really don't want to have to tell people I live_ here_," she joked in a very serious tone. "Ew, you know? Who would take me seriously after that?"

He wasn't offended. "That's not the _real _reason, is it?" He propped his head up on his shoulder, facing her and looking at her intently so that she couldn't escape his analytical gaze.

It _wasn't_ the real reason.

"Would you rather we got married first?" he threatened lightly. She glared.

"I love you, Jack."

"Won't you please, please say you'll live here? If only so we can start getting the baby's room here ready," he said anticipatorily.

"Slowly."

It wasn't the word he'd wanted to hear (you know, that one that starts with a y and ends with an -es), but since his expectation had been a "no," he was delighted with her carefully selected response. He kissed her in gratitude. "I love you, Angela Montenegro."

"I _will _marry you, Jack. You know that, right?" She looked at him with great concern now, her eyes completely sincere.

"I know that," he said reassuringly, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"Just . . . after. After the baby's born."

"Okay," he said. He was just a big bucket of _understanding_, that Jack Hodgins.

She smiled, allowing herself to dwell on something he'd said a few moments before.

"I know we have months, but, I really want to paint the baby's room," she said wistfully, her eyes sparkling.

As eager as he was to indulge her, he still said, "Shouldn't you not be around the fumes from the paint that's used on walls?" He said this very carefully, so she wouldn't think he was insinuating that she shouldn't be around paint _at all_. That would just be ludicrous.

She looked at him unhappily and pouted slightly. "Fuck."

He chuckled. "I'll do some research, see if I can find . . . special paint or something."

Since this topic was now depressing her, she decided to move on to another point of interest. "So," she mused, smiling again now, "which room will the baby have?"

"I was thinking just across the hall to start out, so she's close, and then when she's older –"

"Or _he_," she interjected, laughing.

"_Or he_ is older, she can choose any room in the house. Any room she wants." Angela wasn't sure if she_ remembered _all the rooms in the house.

"You want a girl," was her response.

He shrugged.

"You _do_." She put her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

"A boy would be fantastic," he said.

"Yeah, but you _want_ a girl."

"Maybe." He kissed the top of her head. "I _really_ missed you."

"Hell, I've missed _this bed._ Maybe I _will_ move in soon."

He fell asleep smiling.

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**AN: Yeah, so, I'm pretty much full of meaningless fluff. I'm apologize. I still really hope you review. Please? Thanks!** **Although I suppose you don't really have to say "Gee, that was pretty much meaningless fluff." You might want to challenge yourself to phrase it differently. Haha. I'm just kidding. Say whatever you want. And please tell me if you have suggestions for anything you want to see happen, as this story is largely wide open.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I'm going to assume this part of my story would take place somewhat in the timeframe of the episode where Angela's father comes to down and gives Hodgins the tattoo that says "Angie Forever." If the inaccuracy of my estimation is an issue, use your imagination, please. Thanks! And, yes, I know the whole overprotective father deal is a bit trite, but it was just so easy to want to write it. Plus, this is my honest attempt to write the character of Angela's father somewhat in character. I swear. He just struck me as _like this._ Right? (If you disagree, that'd be a really awesome thing to put in a _review_! Ha!)**

* * *

Billy F. Gibbons had come to D.C. to teach Hodgins a lesson. From what he knew, Jack had broken his little girl's heart; he had been given fair warning, and he was now going to experience (suffer) the consequences.

Angela was having lunch at the diner with Brennan – over which she planned to tell her about the pregnancy and re-engagement - when she saw him. He caught her eye subtly from across the street and made brief contact; he seemed to be on a mission. By the time Angela thought to run out after him to stop him from doing whatever the hell he was going to do, he had disappeared. He was intensely annoying like that.

She distractedly told Brennan she _had_ to go and rushed to the Jeffersonian to warn Hodgins.

He was talking to Cam when she found him (reporting on some particulates he'd identified for the case of the crushed creepy scientist, which didn't seem to be going anywhere), but she had no problem interrupting. "Hodgins," she said with her best dead-serious as a heart attack look on her face, "we have a situation."

Though he did sense a slightly comic air to her words and expression, he knew genuine worry when he saw it. He took a step forward; he had become very _attentive_ recently. "What kind of situation?" he demanded.

"I haven't, um, talked to my father," she began, and then glanced furtively at Cam, whom they _also_ hadn't talked to. "Could we -?" Hodgins looked at Cam apologetically and walked over to the room's corner with Angela.

"_What_?" he said, less concerned now for her and more for himself.

"He's here. My father. And I haven't told him yet, so he still thinks that you," she made air quotes, "'broke my heart.'" At his look of indignation, she interjected, "Which I know is completely inaccurate!"

Then he looked a bit _offended_. "'Completely?'"

"Regardless, he's here and he's here for you and I'd really like to have a plan to avert this crisis now that I've warned you and probably saved your life."

"Probably?" he asked lightly. Jack, though he wouldn't _dare_ let on, was terrified. Partly because Mr. Nigel-Murray had scared him by spouting off that many jazz musicians were said to "fear no Earthly leader" as they'd "sold their souls to the devil." Or something. Who really paid attention to what Mr. Nigel-Murray said anyway? But Hodgins, being an over-proud male, would have preferred not to show his fear around Angela, though she was someone (the only one) who'd seem him at his very weakest. "Can't you just . . . call him?" Hodgins asked hopefully.

She sighed. "Since he's here, I might as well just find him and tell him in person."

Hodgins swallowed (or, well, gulped may be the more accurate term) and then took a _deep breath. _"Do you . . . should I come with you?"

"Jack, I say this only because I want to protect you: I've thought about this, and I think your odds may actually be better if you do come. Trust me."

He was alarmed. _Odds? For my _life_?_

"Are you _sure_?"

She nodded, looking solemn.

"He knows it your fault we're not married, right? Because if he blames me for impregnating you out of wedlock . . ."

She wanted to giggle at his antiquated language, but her concern for him was too great. "Intellectually," was the best answer she could provide.

They found him on the street, casually playing his guitar, surrounded by accumulating admirers. He wore his trademark hat and darkest sunglasses. Hodgins didn't trust the way he couldn't see his eyes.

When he saw them, he acknowledged them with a slight nod but continued to play. When the song decided to be over (Hodgins thought it took _hours_), he put his guitar down deliberately (_this _worried Hodgins) and gave his fans a curt nod. He stepped toward the pair of them, and glanced over his daughter before fixating on the man beside her. (Angela wasn't sure if he'd noted the way their hands were intertwined.) "Hello, Hodgins," he said calmly and deliberately, in way that could have intimidated anyone.

He was _totally _buying what Vincent had said about musicians who had made a deal with the devil. Totally.

"Take your _glasses_ off, Dad. God!" Angela said harshly but at the same time very fondly.

He sighed and looked put upon, but then smiled, only at her. "Okay, Angie."

"Dad. Could we maybe . . . sit down for a few minutes? Talk to you?" She gestured hopefully toward the diner across the street.

Billy looked at Hodgins critically. "With him?" Under his gaze, Hodgins jerked his hand away from Angela's. She elbowed him.

Then she snorted. "Hodgins and I have some news to share with you." Angela's dad appeared, to Hodgins, anyway, very fierce. But his fierceness was of a quiet, very disturbing variety, unlike anything Jack had encountered before. He shivered internally. "Good news," Angela added. "Very good," she ventured.

They walked in silence to the diner and sat in a booth, so that Angela's father was facing the both of them. The setup whispered eerily of sessions with Sweets. _No, _Hodgins thought,_ he was considerably more uncomfortable _here_. _

"What is it you kids wanna tell me?" he asked gruffly. He'd most assuredly noted their locked hands and the vibes of_ togetherness_. This had been Angela's plan, that he _infer_ this part so there'd be less to _tell_ him.

"I know this is going to sound bad," Jack began boldly, "but –"

"_Hodgins_," Angela said firmly. "I think it'd be best if I did the talking," she stage-whispered.

"I think I'd like to hear what this boy has to say."

"Dad, we're engaged again, okay? We're not broken up anymore."

Jack had never felt more like a piece of . . . dirt under a microscope. (He didn't feel worthy of the honorable title of _particulate_. Or even _soil_.)

"Well," Billy said democratically, "I suppose the deal was that I'd kick your ass if you ended things with her. If you've regained your sanity, then you shouldn't be punished for that."

Hodgins let out a breath he'd been holding subconsciously. Screw logic; this man, sitting across from him, was _powerful_.

"I don't know, though. You caused my girl pain . . ."

Angela thought this was ridiculous.

Because it was.

She had to break in with something. "Dad, you know that I've broken up with Roxy since ending it with Hodgins. You wanna kick _her_ ass, too?"

"I don't know."

The eerie thing about Angela's father was that it was difficult to tell when he was joking; he didn't joke often.

"Are you joking?" Sometimes it was best to ask.

To her great relief (and surprise), he nodded. "She's not worth it, sweetie. Not in the same way. _You_ know that." It wasn't as if she shared every detail of her personal life with her _father_, but she had to admit that he did have a point. She wasn't sure how it was different with Jack, but she_ knew_ it always would be. She had loved Roxy, but . . . Hodgins was undeniably different.

She had to consider the potential truth to what Sweets had told her; maybe there was only one _true_ love of her life. If so, it was indubitably Hodgins.

The kid really should be given a little more respect for his work.

Hodgins was growing uncomfortable with this topic of conversation. Until Angela said, "Yeah, Dad, you're exactly right. Hodgins is . . . it's definitely more worth kicking _his_ ass."

It was a strange sentiment, but Jack smiled at her. "Really?"

"Of course, Jack."

"Angela's . . . pregnant," he said suddenly, turning to Billy, no longer feeling afraid. "We're having a baby."

Well, _that_ had been a reckless change of emotion.

Angela stepped on his foot under the table. "Ow!" he whispered.

Angela's dad looked even more threatening than before. "So now you're marrying my daughter because you knocked her up?"

"No! Of . . . of course not . Mister, um, sir," he said uncomfortably, unsure of how to address him, "I've wanted nothing more than to marry Angela for years. I swear."

"I see. And you're . . . financially stable? You look a little . . ._ rugged_." Jack couldn't help but think that he was hardly one to talk.

Angela just rolled her eyes. "Dad, he's like, a multi-billionaire or something." She feigned disgust.

"Why didn't you tell me _that_?"

"It never seemed important."

Hodgins felt like he should contribute something else to the conversation and help his case. "Sir, I promise that I love Angela more than I have ever dreamed of loving anyone. I am so ridiculously happy right now, which is so unnatural, if you know me, but, anyway," he rambled, uncertain of what the man wanted to hear, so just telling the truth. All the truth. "And I think Angela is happy with me most of the time."

Somehow, it was as if someone had taken a vacuum and sucked out all of the tension. (Well, most of it.) To everyone's surprise, Billy F. Gibbons _smiled_. "So you're really pregnant, huh? And you're happy? With him?" He could tell she was. Her contentedness with Jack had been radiating off her. He could sense these things. He still had to make sure. He was satisfied.

He stood up and she got up too. He hugged her tightly. "Congratulations, sweet girl," he whispered.

"Thanks, Dad."

Hodgins felt awkward, sitting all alone, so he moved to his feet. To his extraordinary surprise, Angela's father embraced his future son-in-law. His grip, however, was a bit too rigid for the exchange to be called a _hug_. The "hug" had merely been a vehicle for him to whisper (so Angela wouldn't hear), in an entirely different voice from the one he'd used with her, "You take care of my girl, and of your family. If you fuck this up again, I _will_ kill you."

Hodgins tried to keep the sarcasm out of his, "Thank you, sir."

He failed.

* * *

**AN: So this chapter was meant to be humorous. I hope it was at least entertaining. I wrote it in a bit of a rush. I like the next chapter a lot better, I promise. (You will too!)**

**And remember, I have absolutely _no idea_ if anyone at all enjoys this even a little bit (other than myself, of course) unless you review. I feel so _lonely_. So, seriously. I'm being so hypocritical writing this, but it really doesn't take much to make my day a thousand times better, just by typing _something_ very simple in about ten seconds. I mean, it's exam week; I need something to bring joy to my life. Make a suggestion, say "huh, reading this was sort of superior to cleaning my room," say "Um, this was trite and overdone, but you can improve," or say, "Gee, your author's note sure was bloody annoyingly long and I totally did not read it." Whatever.**

**So how about you and me make a deal? Karma in action: you review this story and I promise to review all the stories I read this week.**

**Deal?**

**Thanks! So, so much.**

**(I swear I think I'm being funny with my notes, but I'm probably coming off as mega annoying. Please know my intentions are honorable; I think that's important.)**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I would like to preface this by apologizing for my desperation (Review, um, "whoring," is it called? I don't feel comfortable using that term.) last chapter. And by saying that I totally lied about liking this chapter more. I mean, it wasn't a lie at the time. I thought that the next chapter which will now be posted later, presumably tomorrow, would take this one's place. I then realized that such a setup would turn into a chronological_ nightmare_. So I just wrote this to fill in the space, time-wise. So please, as you read, keep in mind that something better_ is_ coming. Soon. Tomorrow, probably.**

* * *

Hodgins laughed at the look of awestruck terror on his fiancé's face. "Learning something interesting?" he asked.

"What if I'm a carrier of Tay-Sachs disease? God, people really should get tested for things _before_ they have kids."Angela was sitting cross-legged on her bed, feverishly scanning through all sorts of scary medical web pages, when Hodgins snuck up on her.

"You know, for someone with such mad technical knowledge and advanced computer skills, you really don't utilize the internet very well," he joked, chuckling, as he sprawled out next to her and placed his arm on her back, caressing her tense muscles with his fingers. "Besides, Tay-Sachs is found almost exclusively in Eastern European and Ashkenazi Jews _and_ we'd both have to be carriers for it to be passed to our child."

For some inexplicable reason, pregnancy made Angela anxious much more often than she was used to. She did not enjoy this newfound anxiety, a product, she assumed, of some overactive hormone, at all - and this made her, well, _anxious_.

"Do you know how many genetic disorders he could be born with? It's _terrifying_."

"Yeah. It is. Turn off the computer."

"What if our child is born without deltoids _or_ triceps? Or with a heart defect? I mean, obviously, a _heart defect_ would be worse. Oh, and, _apparently_, there's a potential link between low protein diets and severe autism and I never eat enough protein and, God, I'm going to _ruin_ our child."

"Angela," Jack said firmly, but with a hint of a smirk in his voice, "You're perfect." He bent down, talking at her abdomen: "And_ you_ are absolutely perfect." He lifted her shirt and kissed her right next to her belly button. His hands closed her laptop and placed it on the floor. He faced her and looked directly into her eyes. "You are completely crazy."

She smiled, just a little.

He kissed her, because she surely wasn't about to kiss _him_ without prompting.

"Jack," she said worriedly, biting her lip, "I like my clothes."

He smirked. He knew this was going to be good.

Hodgins was getting used to this new way she dealt with anxiety, by rambling on _to him_ endlessly in the evenings. Strangely, it didn't annoy him. He _loved_ it, actually. He liked being able to make her feel better so often. It helped him feel useful. And he appreciated that she was divulging so much of what she felt with him. This was incredibly unusual for the self-proclaimed free spririt. "I like your clothes, too," he said.

"I'll have to buy new clothes soon. I won't fit into mine anymore because I'll be . . . what was the word you used? Puffy, was it?"

"_When_ did I say that?"' he demanded, though he fully remembered the conversation.

"I don't know . . . last year sometime."

He chuckled. "And you remembered?"

She nodded. "Did you think I'd_ forget_ that?"

He was indignant. "I believe what I said was that I'll still think you're sexy when you're puffy."

"And do you?" she asked with less anger than she'd normally put into such a question. Instead, it was asked with surprising eagerness and vulnerability.

"You're not _puffy_."

"I _feel_ puffy."

"Well, you_ look_ beautiful. You look more beautiful than usual, if that's possible. You're sort of . . . radiant." It wasn't even a line. Not much of one.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he turned his neck to kiss her forehead. "I think you're insane."

"You've told me that before, I believe."

He kissed her again, and smiled cheekily. "And insanely beautiful," he whispered. "And not at all puffy. But, you know, your appearance_ is_ undeniably changing. In a good way. But it's becoming rather obvious."

"I know. Tomorrow we should tell everyone."

After all the excitement with Angela's father, they'd been hesitant to go through the experience of "sharing good news" with any other loved ones. And Hodgins was still _recovering _from that "hug."

And they had to admit that they were enjoying keeping the baby a private secret, just between the two of them (and, well, _Sweets_, who still wasn't looking either of them directly in the eye). They liked having something that was only theirs. But, well, the physical evidence was becoming rather difficult to hide. Angela only owned so many loose-fitting tops.

They decided Brennan was their top priority.

* * *

So Angela told Brennan alone the next day. She should have predicted her response.

"You'll be done with that reconstruction within the hour, then?" she asked seriously.

_Had her best friend not _heard _her? _

Angela understood that she was being generous to say that Brennan had unorthodox priorities. And she'd admit that she sometimes just bounced personal issues off of Brennan to amuse herself and to organize her own thoughts. And it wasn't as if she expected her to care about every little development in her personal life; she knew_ that_ bored her.

But _this_. This had been important. Astronomically more significant than anything she'd ever cared to share with her friend before.

So Angela wasn't sure _what_ she'd been expecting. But she_ had_ been hoping (maybe naively) for _something._

"Sweetie? Did you hear me?"

"Yes. I understand that your rendering won't be _completely_ accurate, due to the severe skull damage."

"No, sweetie. The part where I told you Hodgins and I have reproduced." She sighed, amused but frustrated by her friend.

"It would be inaccurate to say that you've reproduced yet, because the fetus is still gestating."

"Right," Angela said, nodding a little patronizingly. "Bren, you honestly have no . . . reaction?" She knew it had been silly to expect anything, but she was still a bit disappointed.

"Well, the child won't arrive for at least another six, seven months. It won't affect me, or you, or _anyone _for a while." Angela looked at her in disbelief. "Well, I mean, it _will_ affect _your_ body, obviously."

Angela rested her face in her hand, shaking her head.

"Ange, have I offended you? Because I'm _certain_ you will be an _excellent_ mother. You have many talents to offer your child, in addition to your beauty. That combined with Hodgins' high IQ assures me that your child will, statistically, be _very_ successful."

Angela smiled. "Yeah. That's better."

"Congratulations? Should I say 'congratulations'?" she tried; Dr. Brennan was actually rather worried. Booth had assured her that her interpersonal skills were improving recently, but, in this moment, she felt hesitant to place confidence in his assessment.

"Thank you. I appreciate that," Angela said, laughing.

"I'll be glad to provide auditory and visual stimulation for your child, too. I'm . . . I'm very excited for you. I've become rather adept with Parker, you know."

"That's good. And I'm . . . sure you have, sweetie. I'm sure you're _very_ adept with Parker."

Then Brennan hugged her. Tightly, like she had the first time Angela'd asked her to be her maid of honor.

"Should I go find Hodgins and congratulate him, too?"

"Yes, he'd like that, sweetie."

Laughing, she watched her best friend walk away, appearing comically on a mission.

* * *

"Dr. Hodgins," Brennan called as she stepped onto the platform. Jack looked up from his microscope.

"What's up, Dr. B?" he asked cheerily.

"You've been . . . very happy lately," she noted.

"Yeah, I know," he agreed.

"Angela just informed me of the reason for that happiness, and I wanted to congratulate you."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan. Really."

"Angela is very happy as well."

Hodgins grinned. "Yeah. I know that."

He'd never possessed greater knowledge.

**

* * *

**

**AN: I believe the, er, fluff, and presumed emotions I've tried to imagine in this chapter may have driven it to the point of extreme out of character-ness. This was unintentional, but I confess that more attention could have been given to quality. As this is fanfiction, I suppose my expectations (for myself) are a bit low.**

**My expectations for Hart Hanson, however, have been heightened astronomically. Who saw last week's episode? Ah!!! So many positive vibes for Angela and Hodgins! Yes!**

**Though it's no longer exam week, I do still _appreciate_ the occasional review, you know. I'm still _human_. Ha.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: So this chapter is completely just me indulging in my great love for Dr. Zack Addy. I hope that's okay. **

**My own name is Emily, so I promise I'm not out to offend anyone by the characters' cruel treatment of certain names.**

**Oh, and I skipped some time, obviously, to make this chapter fit.**

* * *

The second they found out the baby's gender, they wanted to pick out a name. And Angela was_ serious_, when it came to picking a name. (And you would be too, if you were Angela.)

She was adamant about not letting the name thing be a spur of the moment decision. That was how people ended up with middle names like _Pearly Gates._

"Nothing too weird," she mandated, and Jack was a little surprised, knowing _her._ Part of him was expecting her to create a new name for the kid, or something, out of thin air, just because she liked original things. He was relieved when she added, "Except I draw the line at completely common. No _Emily_ or _Sarah_." She sighed and then added emphatically, "Or _Isabelle._ Oh, God. Or Ava. Or _Ella_." She spat the names as if they sounded unpleasant, which, in Jack's opinion, they absolutely did not. But he knew better than to voice this opinion. "None of this new age fake chic, same as everyone else _crap_ for our kid, okay?"

He peered down at her indulgently and nodded in exaggerated solidarity. She was sprawled out on the couch in what was becoming _their _living room with her head in his lap. Her hand rested on her abdomen as if channeling the small soul inside for inspiration.

Jack suggested they name her after a famous entomologist, and Angela, liking the quixotic idea of a unique, vintage English name from the eighteen-hundreds, had encouraged the notion. Until Jack admitted the only famous female entomologists he could think of were named Mary and Nancy. And neither of them wanted_ that_ for the girl.

"_Fonda_ means 'ground,'" he said with playful hopefulness.

Angela pretended to vomit.

"Jack," she said frantically (she was frantic a lot recently; hormones did that, he supposed), "I just don't want our daughter wanting to change her name the second she turns eighteen."

"Oh, but what if it comes to her_ in a dream_?" he joked, unable to resist, though he knew it would annoy her.

She glared. "Hey, if you wanna name her Falcon, just go right ahead . . ."

His face lit up. "_Falcon_? Was your name actually _Falcon_?" He was grinning wickedly like he'd just been entrusted with the world's greatest secret. And in his world, he absolutely had been.

"No, no! Of . . . of course not!"

He looked at her disbelievingly. "Oh, okay, Ange, sure."

"I swear. It was just . . . an example. I don't know where it came from." But she began giggling at the absurdity of her father. "I just . . . you should be a better father than mine is."

"Your father's great," he said, but then, in reaction to her look of disbelief, re-evaluated and told the truth. "Well, I mean, to you. As a_ father_. And a musician. As a person, I think his social skills could use some work."

She laughed at his discomfort. "And his naming skills," she added.

"_Falcon_? Seriously?"

"No, Jack, I'm joking. It's a sick, sick joke." She was caustic.

They spent the next few minutes in quiet thought; Angela was forgiving him easily as his hand joined hers atop their pending child and interlaced their fingers. And, as it so often does, inspiration struck Angela.

"I have an idea," she announced. "But it's . . . very strange."

He smiled. "Well, let's hear it, then."

"Wait. Okay, before I say it: your former Young Republicans membership aside," she said, scoffing at the hilarity of her words, "you're not secretly some conservative, traditionalist, rigid gender role fanatic, are you?"

_He_ scoffed. "Definitely not," he said easily. Then he reconsidered. "Unless you want to name our daughter, like, _Barack_, or something."

"Nothing like that. Well, not quite. Actually, well, I was originally thinking of it for a boy, but we can girly it up a bit, of course, put_ Leigh_ after it or something and call her by her first and middle name –"

"_Angela_," he said impatiently.

"We'll the K off, for sure. It shouldn't be a problem, especially if she goes all Dr. Tenaka on us. Not that she can't do that. That's fine. We'll dress her in a lot of pink, though, at least as a baby-" He bent down and kissed her in a way that was a little angry, because he was so frustrated with her; it was _hot_, Angela decided. She should frustrate him more often.

"What _is_ it?" he demanded against her mouth.

"Zac," she breathed when his lips left hers.

His smile was slow and cautious.

"If you think it's stupid . . ." He placed a finger on her lips.

"I _love_ it, Angela."

_So much for "nothing too weird."_

"Do you?"

He nodded.

"Will Zack? Will you tell him?"

"I'd love to," he said, wondering in the possibility of his daughter.

"Good," Angela said.

"We _will_ girly it up a little, right?"

"Definitely. Hey, it's girlier than _Falcon_."

"And, at the risk of labeling her and negatively affecting her perception of expected societal gender roles, we'll make sure she's got the opportunity to be feminine, right? So that this won't screw her up?"

"Sure, Jack." He knew she was doing this for him and he was so, so grateful. For everything she was giving him. "So, Zac . . . Leigh or something?"

"What about something really girly, for a middle name? Like . . ." He took a breath, like he was making a huge confession. "Lucy?"

"Zac Lucy Hodgins."

"Yeah."

"Why Lucy?"

"Well," he said carefully. His hand was running through her thick, wavy hair. "When I first . . ._ imagined_ our 'million' kids, the girl was named Lucy," he disclosed, feeling sheepish. "Let's go to bed," he said, to distract her. She moved her head and he lifted her to a standing position. He put his arm around her and led her to the bedroom.

"You've_ imagined _this?" she asked giddily, giggling.

"I liked your idea better, though," he said, feeling embarassed.

"I think it's sort of hot for girls to have masculine names," she said thoughtfully.

Jack was confused. "_What_?"

"I dated a girl named Spencer one time. That was hot."

"You've dated _girls_?"

She stared at him. She laughed at him, trying to communicate puzzlement.

"I mean, I thought it was just Roxy."

She shook her head. "Does that _bother_ you?" She was almost angry.

"No. No! I mean, not any more than it does that you've loved other men."

She rolled her eyes, but blushed slightly. Then she regained focus. "I'm just saying . . . tell me you've never fallen for, like, an _Andy_ or a _Logan_."

"This conversation, in regard to our daughter, is making me very uncomfortable."

Angela laughed.

* * *

Hodgins went to the institution that Saturday, during the regular visiting hour, to tell Zack. It always made him indescribably sad to go see the king of the loony bin, but at the same time, it was often the happiest hour of his week.

"We're having a girl, Zack. Look," he said, showing him the creased, grainy sonogram picture he'd taken to carrying around in his pocket.

"The fetus is female," Zack restated, examining the image carefully. "From the shadows here, I discern that her bones are forming at an ideal rate. I think this is a time when most normal people would say 'wow.'" He paused, looking at the picture even more closely. "Wow, Hodgins."

"Yeah," Hodgins said, with a small, joyous smile. He stood up and walked over to Zack's side of the table. "The thing is, Zack, Ange and I really want her to know how important you are, even if she won't be able to see you very often. So, we're going to name her . . . after you."

"But she's female. I am not."

"Yeah, man, I know."

"Zackary is traditionally a male name."

"We're gonna spell it Z-A-C."

Zack wanted to tell him his decision was irrational and socially unadvisable, but something – maybe the look in Hodgins's eyes – stopped him. "Thank you. That's very nice. I'm . . . very happy for you. And for Angela."

Hodgins was prepared to put an open-faced hand on his shoulder, but Zack stood up and hugged him cautiously; Hodgins wasn't sure if Zack had ever initiated a hug before in his life.

* * *

**AN: Anyone else noticed there's an awful lot of hugging happening in this story? Huh.**

**I _know_ the name is weird. I really do. But I just don't actually care because this _is_ fanfiction. And a name is just a word you call a person.**

**Let me know what you think and please tell me if you have suggestions! **

**I do love reviews. But you already knew that.**

**P.S. I am a plagarist. I completely stole the name "Falcon" from a really cute story I once read that I cannot remember the name of. I take no credit and I feel very bad about stealing from the author of that story, but I thought it was such a hilarious concept that I just could not resist. **


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